


Mrs. Martin Crieff Richardson

by General_Button



Series: Martin/Douglas [1]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: M/M, Oral, Wife!Kink, cross-dressing, talk of wivery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:03:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/pseuds/General_Button
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin likes to dress up as Douglas' good little housewife</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mrs. Martin Crieff Richardson

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic...read at your own risk.

It was a secret of Martin’s, one that he kept nearest to his heart. He’d been dating Douglas for sixth months, moved in with him during the fourth. The first few weeks had been bliss; sex, sex, and more sex. Well, it felt like a whole lot more than Martin was usually used to at least. He loved being pampered by Douglas, being fed and roughened with large, calloused fingers. He loved to feel the man’s thighs press into his own, buck into their embrace.

He felt like the newlywed wife. 

As soon as Martin mused over this thought he giggled, brushing it away. After a while, it kept popping up, snuck back in his mind, endlessly shifting inside his brain. The idea of being a wife - specifically Douglas’ wife, caused his cheeks to redden. His cock was suddenly so hard it hurt.

He didn’t explore this kink too deeply - not at first anyway. One time when he’d gone to the store though, and noticed the aprons hanging innocently in their respective isle, he had to buy one. It was just luck that made him pick the pink and red one. Besides, it wasn’t as if it was anything bad. 

He just practiced his cooking like he’d promised Douglas (one day he wanted to cook him a nice meal) and innocently wrapped an apron to keep himself from getting ingredients all over his nice clothing. 

It may have become a bit of a problem when he saw the white dress flowing so prettily over the thin mannequin that held its gloriously soft fabric. Martin was handing over the money before he could think twice.

In front of the mirror, the dress sat in his hands heavily, looking suddenly shameful and humiliating. As if he could wear this?! He was a man! Douglas would never let him live it down, anyway. Martin in an embarrassed huff threw it into his closet, refusing to look at it again.

About a week later he was back, slowly taking the dress out from its bundled perch on top of one of his unpacked boxes holding a few of his most important items. The white fabric glimmered and glowed under the sunlight, folds flashing pale oranges and pinks, lightly weaved into the edges. It was gorgeous. Like some kind of pretty sun-dress a rich man’s wife might wear. 

Martin slipped it on. He looked ridiculous in front of the mirror, red-faced and with short curly hair. A man’s body. This was an awful idea! Why did he even consider it? The dress shifted as Martin moved.

Oh. That - that felt nice. The loose fabric brushed his legs and settled comfortably on his thighs, a soft, sweet caress against his skin. He moved around the room, spinning himself to feel the fabric shift and lift over his skin, brushing soft satin against the hairs on his legs. It would feel even better if the were shaven. 

Carefully going to the bathroom, avoiding Douglas’ attention from the living room, he shaved each leg with care until they glimmered, soft and smooth. He shuddered when the white fabric rubbed against him wonderfully.

He stared at his bare feet, finding something missing though. Of course!

The next day he bought shoes. 

The day after, a pink dress. 

Then a red one.

He contemplated make-up, but didn’t want to go overboard. Martin comforted himself to the same ritual nearly daily. While Douglas stayed at the airfield with his friends at the pub and if Martin had extra time, he would go into his room and slip on the dresses and skirts, walking about the room. It felt so good, and not only that, but he found himself imagining these were wives clothes - his clothes as _Douglas’_ wife.

Martin would lie on the bed in his dress, spreading his legs. He’d feel the muscles flex under the soft folds and he would touch himself, imagining it was Douglas who was doing it, large, slight fingers working over his cock softly, caressing him. He’d speak into his ear and proclaim his love for Martin - for his wife. 

Muffled shouts would echo as Martin would orgasm, just at those thoughts alone and a slight touch.

Eventually he bought the garter, stockings, and panties, shivering as silk and lace slipped easily over his thighs. He felt dirty, positively decadent. Douglas didn’t know, couldn’t know his secret. It was awful, it was silly, and it left Martin shuddering for more.

Douglas eventually did catch him though. It was Martin’s fault, really. He shouldn’t have become to familiar with the ritual of having time to indulge, to dress and walk about the house, pretending it was his and Douglas’, and he wasn’t just his love, that he was his wife and they might even have children. 

Martin even let it get so far that he began to cook, sitting in an apron and a dress, slowly swinging his hips from side to side and food cooked, smelling good even for him. 

So when Douglas came home, walking into the kitchen to see one pleasantly flushed pilot’s hips cocked in a dress, poppin’ red heels and a frilly pink apron, it was fair to say he was shocked. 

“My wor — Martin?” The egg he held over the pan dropped out of his hand unceremoniously and he spun around, cheeks paling in horror. He pressed himself to the counter, sharp wood digging into his back, as if he may escape Douglas’ gaze. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Oh God oh God.

“I-I-I — I didn’t -” he stammered, cheeks flushing with humiliation. The comfortable dress now seemed outright ridiculous, once silken and soft now rubbing his dry skin raw. 

Douglas blinked, expression unreadable as Martin blushed piteously, lips quivering as he forced back tears of shane. _Say something!_ He wanted to scream, but words wouldn’t come out. Ashamed and cold, he wished he could fall into a hole and never crawl out. It only made it worse that he went all-out; panties, garter, the works. He’d barely stopped himself from buying a bra.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I - I’ll - I mean, I was just - sorry.” Tears slipped down his cheeks and he was a quivering mess, waiting for Douglas to yell and shout or slip in that snide comment that would utterly ruin Martin. 

He could, he know. He could say something - a small thing, a sarcastic remark, and Martin would never forgive him for exposing his vulnerable self. Shame and hate and anger would consume him in that moment. He would forget, possibly forgive, but never completely. 

Instead, Douglas dropped his bag and swept Martin into his arms. “It’s all right. It’s okay; don’t cry Martin.” Martin sagged into his arms, relief making him limp.

“Oh o-oh God, really?” Hesitant, his fingers gripped Douglas’ shoulder, nose buried against his neck as he blinked away tears.

“Yes. I’m a bit shocked, of course, but you should have told me. It’s hardly something to be ashamed of.” It was a bit weird (Martin? Cross-dressing?), but Douglas would accept Martin. Martin needed him to accept it in order for their relationship to stay smooth. 

“You _do_ look rather fetching.” Voice hitting a new low, Martin shivered, skin darkening with blood.

“I - it’s not like that. I mean, not the cross-dressing part. I just…I don’t know. Had a… never mind, it’s stupid.” Martin tilted his head down as if to avert his gaze, but the heels made him even taller than Douglas, which meant there will no where to escape his gaze.

“Martin.” He shook his head, biting his plump lower lip.

“I - you’ll laugh at me. It’s - it’s silly.”

“Martin,” he gently urged, pressing soft kisses all over Martin’s face. The pilot sighed and laid his head on Douglas’ shoulder.

“…”

“What was that?”

“I was just… _thinking_ …that maybe I, you know - I don’t know - ” he took a deep breath. “I was fantasizing that I was your wife!” His voice burst through much too loudly and he felt his face flush decadently. The pilot forced his head away, breath coming out ragged and uncertain. 

Douglas blinked at Martin squirming in his arms and slowly detached Martin from himself. The captain gazed at him with wide, frightened eyes, a desperate keen rising from his throat. He clutched at Douglas’ arms, pleading with his eyes. _Don’t hate me, don’t leave me, God please._ Tears threatened to spill for the second time and Douglas kissed his left cheekbone with care.

“You want to be my wife, then?” Voice low and deep, Douglas brought his lips to Martin’s temple and sucked. Martin shivered, both from the kiss and the thought. The thought of being Douglas’ wife was…incredibly hot, for some reason. He nodded minutely, eyes pinched with shame until Douglas shoved him against the counter, pulling Martin up by his hips to set him atop the counter. 

Dizzy with shock, Martin watched as Douglas lifted up the dress, whistling at what he saw. “Well, you went all the way, didn’t you, Mrs. Richardson.” Martin’s breath hitched and he pulled his knees inward. He didn’t - he wasn’t really…serious, was he? 

Martin breathed. “I - I wanted to be authentic.” Douglas chuckled and moved back until he rested on one knee, brushing his fingers over the front of his heel.

“Beautiful choice.” His voice curled luxuriously with approval and Martin shuddered, suddenly very, very hard. Douglas pressed a kiss over the top of his foot, then began to trail kisses up his clothed leg. Martin twitched, trying not to move or make any noise. His lip was pierced by his tooth. 

Douglas peppered kisses until he came to the edge of the dress, worrying the edges before he lifted it straight up, exposing Martin’s half-hard cock and straining lace panties. “My word.” Douglas’ voice gurgled low. Martin squirmed and squeezed the edge of the counter, trying not to raise his hips. Douglas leaned in and disappeared from view, the top of the dress settling over his head. 

Martin gasped when he felt teeth against the edge of his undergarments, hips twitching. He couldn’t see Douglas, but knowing he was under his dress, lips hovering closely to his clothed prick, made him shudder in anticipation. He couldn’t believe Douglas was actually - actually interested. He bit his lip. 

With Douglas under him, hidden from view, it all seemed even more decadent and naughty. Dirty and intense; newlyweds who couldn’t help themselves in the kitchen. 

He jerked and gasped when a wet tongue traced the tip of his penis. Hot arousal spread throughout his limbs, leaving a delicious tingle. Douglas took the head into his mouth, pushing the underwear down, and Martin moaned, fingers white as he tried to hold himself on the counter whilst canting his hips. Warm breath gusted over and Martin leaned forward, shaking with arousal. God, he’d never been this hard before. 

He felt like - as if he really was Douglas’ dirty wife and he was going to eat him out, pleasure him until he was a mess.

Shivers wracked the pilot’s body. He nearly screamed in half-shock, half-pleasure when Douglas took him deep. Unable to see him, Martin could only feel, and God it felt good. He folded, leaning forward to press his chest against Douglas’ head, ankles crossed and heels digging into his back.

“Douglas, Douglas God,” he moaned, shaking as the first officer bobbed his head swiftly. He would suckle on the head gently, pulling droplet after droplet of pre-come into his mouth, then he would take Martin deep, leaving the man arching and shuddering with tingling pleasure. 

“God, God, God, Douglas.” He whimpered when Douglas pulled away, voice rising from within the folds. 

“My, my Mrs. Richardson. You’re being positively _naughty_. I’d hate to take your precious virtue.” In response, Martin rode the waves of arousal that had him rolling his hips towards Douglas, moaning low in his throat. God - why did that get him so hot?

“Douglas, yes. God yes. I’m - ” he flushed a beautiful red ” - your wife.” He whispered it, then repeated it louder, eyes glittering with love and admiration. “I’m your wife,” he cried loudly, hands gripping the fabric above Douglas’ head as he took him into his mouth again. “Take it!” He could have his “virtue.” He could have anything.

Douglas sucked and bobbed, just enough that Martin was writhing and bucking for more, lips parted in loud moans and soundless gasps. “Douglas, Douglas!” God, he wouldn’t last long. Martin sobbed and shook, eyes rolling back when Douglas pulled away and swirled his tongue around the tip.

Douglas placed a hand on his quivering thighs, lifting and spreading them, displaying Martin’s dripping cock, balls still half-caught in the lacy fabric. He leaned in and gave it a tentative lick, earning a jerk of the hips and a whimper, a soft sigh of _Douglas_. 

“My lovely, beautiful, handsome wife.” And with that he took Martin deep into his mouth, felt the satin rub at his chin, and relaxed his throat as Martin pushed forward, burying himself to have the most intense orgasm of his life. His hips shook and jerked for what felt like hours, head thrown back and gleaming with sweat, moans entirely shameless and far too loud.

“Oh God, Oh God, Douglas!” The man swallowed diligently and waited until the throbbing penis in his mouth softened, taking him time to lick every last drop. He carefully backed away until he faced Martin, whose body was flushed and the dress was positively ruffled. It was a good look for him. 

He smiled and kissed his debauched lover’s cheeks, then lips, lingering as they slid together and shared soft, sated moans. Douglas lifted Martin off of the counter and brushed the dress off, smirking when Martin blushed. He’d noticed the impressive erection he was sporting under his clothing. “I - let me take care of that,” he coughed, voice a bit hoarse. 

“Nay, Mrs. Richardson. Shan’t we save that for our wedding night?” Martin shivered, biting his reddened lower lip, a heated spark in his eye. Oh, yes. They were going to enjoy this.


End file.
